Tramp on the Street
by Coneflower Adams
Summary: "He was some mother’s darling, he was some mother’s son. Once he was young, his mother, she’d rock him...her darling to sleep. But they left him to die like a tramp on the street."


Tramp on the Street   
by Coneflower  
  
Everything was gone.  
  
His money. His wife. His eyesight. The World...  
  
The old blind man sat on the corner holding a tin cup and murmuring to himself. He hoped people would be kind to spare some coins for him to eat. But, why should they? He had never been kind to anyone when he was on top of the world looking down on them. They had every right to cover their ears and walk right pass him.   
  
"Where had I gone wrong?" he mumbled to himself many times over again during the day and night.   
  
There was no space for an old, blind man on the streets of Manhattan. So, no one paid any mind...  
  
"I hope my dead body leaves a stench so thick, attacking all these forsaken mongrels. You hear that?! I'm going to haunt you till your dying day, New York! You'll never get rid of Joseph Pulitzer!"  
  
"Thought I recognized you."   
  
Who was that? The sure voice cut through his brain. He knew this person. Joe turned about trying to find the source of the voice.   
  
"Who's there? I know you from somewhere."  
  
A hand grasped his arm. "Of course, you do, old man. I'm the boy who defeated you, remember? The newsboy with the power in his corner?"  
  
Joe was speechless for a moment. He never had given a second thought of Jack Kelly, or even how any of his newsboys were faring. Why should he care? He was the mighty Joseph Pulitzer on top of The World always looking down at the dirt. That's what they had been - dirt - until he joined them. Now he was the same.  
  
"You stay away from me!" He jerked away.  
  
"Oh no you don't. I can see you're in a raw position here." Jack grabbed his arm again, and held tight. "Don't think I'll ever get another chance like this." He dragged the blind man down the walk.   
  
"Where are you taking me?"  
  
"You'll see. Whoops..." Jack laughed. "Sorry, you won't. But I'll tell you when we get there."  
  
Joe let himself be taken away. He hadn't expected that he'd come in contact with Jack Kelly again. He knew this had to be the end. He'd been placed in the middle of a circle of furious newsboys. That'd be it! After a good while, Jack lead him into a building and set him in a chair.   
  
"Where am I?" Joe heard a rustle of a coat.   
  
"You're in my house."  
  
"Why am I here?"  
  
There was a loud interval then, "You need a place to stay, or you'll freeze to death out there."  
  
"Why should you care what happens to me? What if I wanted to catch my death? You should of left me out there!"  
  
"Hold your fire, Joe. You can leave if you prefer, but I suggest staying. As much as I don't like you, you're still a person."  
  
Blow to the chest. He never thought himself "just a person". Not even in the war as an ambulance wagon driver. He was the best! Just as he was the best newspaper owner! Now he had to be the best blind and homeless man! How dare Jack Kelly, a lowly newsboy - mud scrapped off your shoe, could take that best away from him!   
  
Joe stood, readying to leave. Although...the fire that had started was warm and inviting. He hadn't felt heat like that in a month.   
  
A chair leg screeched beside him. "So, Joe, I heard about your fall from your tower. Sad day in newspaper history." It sounded sarcastic and it was.   
  
"I don't want to talk about it, boy. Leave me be. I'll be gone tomorrow."  
  
Jack snorted. "You don't have to go."  
  
"I'll be gone anyway."  
  
"Suit yourself."  
  
By his word, Joe was gone the next morning. First a pot was kicked then a hinge creaked. Jack woke in time to spot Joe hobble down the street through his window. He shook his head. There went a determined man...for that, it'd be the ultimate end to him.   
  
It had been extremely cold for weeks, but snow had just begun to fall that day. The harsh, damp wind blew through the caverns of buildings, scorching citizens' faces.   
  
Jack set home one night after work bundled tight in his wool coat. He didn't know why, but his eyes shifted to a pile of crates stacked against a wall. A slumped figure lay beside them. He knew it was him. Booming in his gut, he knew a reason was in store for his eyes to look that way that night.   
  
He carried the man leaning against him all the way to his tenement.   
  
Morning struck late, and Joe became restless in his sleep. He finally opened his eyes just in time to feel someone clutch his arm. Jack Kelly was sitting in a chair beside his bed.   
  
"It's all right, Joe. It's just me."  
  
"What happen?"   
  
"You almost froze to death, Joe. You're lucky I found you."   
  
Relief was all he could feel, though, he didn't know why. He wanted to die, but at the same time, wanted to live out of spite. He remained silent for many hours. Jack was gone. It gave him time to brood over his life.  
  
Was it a wave of change he felt in his inner being? It couldn't be. Joseph Pulitzer was suppose to have a heart of stone, not feeling anything but his stubborn, pride-filled attitude.   
  
Joe stayed many days in Jack's home. He wanted to know how this former foe could give him so much kindness. The question was never answered.   
  
"I'm leaving now."   
  
Jack looked up from his newspaper to see Joe dressed to the full along with the used winter coat he had gotten him. "Where you going now?"  
  
"Away. You don't have to worry, Jack Kelly. I know what I will do now. I think it's my turn to thank you. So, thanks." He turned to leave.   
  
"Joe..."  
  
The old man halted in the doorway. "Yes?"   
  
"You taught me two valuable lessons in life. One is not to give up on what matters in your life. The second is...pride will kill you."  
  
Joe was frozen in his stance, nodding his head absently. "See to it that you remember those, and use them exactly how I didn't." With that, he was gone.   
  
Jack cracked an understanding smile. He never saw hide or hair of Joseph Pulitzer again or even heard word of him. But he knew for one brief moment the old, blind man opened a passage to himself and did the best good he could at his lowest. 


End file.
